The Crash
by tonks42392
Summary: ON HIATUS! It’s 2009, and the twins can drive! But when Zack is driving Cody home and they get into a car crash, only one of the twins survives. Who will live? And who will be the one…seeing ghosts?
1. Dad?

Summary: It's 2009, and the twins can drive! But when Zack is driving Cody home and they get into a major car crash, only one of the twins survives. Who will live? What will they're mother say? And who will be the one…seeing ghosts?

Chapter 1: Dad?

---Zack's POV---

"I'm bored," I said, flicking the channels of the TV, "there's nothing on at 8:55 AM." My mom walked over and turned off the TV. "Here's an idea," she said, "Why don't you go to school. You're late, you know." I looked at the clock in the kitchen. "I'm not late. I have the first two periods off remember?" She then looked at the clock, "Well, doesn't third period start at 9:15?" I nodded. "You better get going then; it's almost nine o' clock." I sighed; she was right, as always.

I got up, stretched, grabbed my back pack, and was out of there, right as the phone rang. I just left, considering it might be the school, telling me I really was late. With that thought, I sped up and joined the six other people in the elevator, including London. "Hey Zack," she said, smoothing out her 'Dona Cabonna' original. "Hi," I said in return. "Shouldn't you be at school?" she asked, confused. "Well, yeah. But I have the first two periods off now that I'm a junior." Then London looked really confused. "You're a junior?" she asked. "Yes," I said slowly, making sure she understood, "Cody and I are in high school now." She paused, then her face lit up in a sigh of understanding. "Right," she said, "Is that what that party on Saturday was for: you guys being in high school?" I sighed. Maddie was right, she _was_ hopeless. "No," I said, even more slowly than before, "That was because Cody and me turned sixteen."

At this point, I was saved from talking to London any more because the elevator doors opened and everyone, including London and myself, got out. Before going to get into my red sports car, I visited Maddie at the candy counter. "Hey sweet thang," I said, smiling. "Hi Zack," she replied, not even having to turn around. "Two Hershey's bars, please," I said, holding out two dollar bills. "Here," she said, handing me the chocolate and giving one of the dollars back, "They're fifty cents, I only need one of these." I shook my head. "Take em," I said, "Just consider it a gift from the Zack-myster." With that, I winked, smiled, and left the Tipton.

Once in my car, I opened one of the bars, and relaxed. I had that burning question in my mind again. I just couldn't get it out of my head. _Why was I still living with my mother, let alone at the Tipton? _Cody had his own suite, after all. Whenever I asked him how, he always gave me the same answer: 'When you were buying useless toys with your allowance, I was carefully putting all my money in my bank account. Plus, I was actually responsible and got a job to support my needs.' I would always reply with: 'Yeah, yeah, yeah…' But that didn't matter to me any more. I was Zack Martin and I could do anything! Well…almost anything.

At this point, I had pulled into the Boston High School parking lot along with the rest of the kids that had scheduled the first two periods to be their break periods. I was just about to lock my car, when something hit me. It wasn't an idea, something_ literally_ hit me. I turned around to see Cody, panting, and looking like he had been crying. "What's wrong lil bro?" I asked, trying to be as sympathetic as I could. Now Cody wasn't even trying to hide his crying, "I'll (sob) tell (sob) you… later." Then he pointed to Mom's car. She must have left when I was at the candy counter because I didn't see her leave. I took this as a sign to get in the car.

Before I had even shut the door, Mom was out of the school grounds. She must have been just as concerned as Cody because she was showing signs of crying as well. Is this what that phone call was about? "Mom," I asked cautiously, hoping she wouldn't start crying like my brother, "what exactly is going on?" My mom sighed, trying to keep herself together, "Your father," she started, but the rest of her words were drowned by tears.

'This was really bad' I thought painfully as we drove through Boston at warp speed. 'What was wrong with Dad? He couldn't have died, could he? No,' I thought, trying to steer my thoughts away from that dreadful possibility, 'don't go there.'

We pulled into the emergency room parking lot of the Boston hospital. I remember the last time we were here was when Cody broke his leg. That was my fault. We were wrestling and I tried a jump-on-Cody-to-make-him-give-up move. This did work, but it unfortunately got me into a lot of trouble.

Mom scrambled out of the car, along with Cody and myself, and ran (yes, Mom _ran_) into the emergency room. The automatic doors slid open to reveal various patients all waiting to be checked for broken bones or sprains, but, thankfully, we didn't have to wait. Mom proceeded right to the desk where an old lady with glasses was squinting at something on her computer screen.

"Excuse me," Mom said, not waiting for the old lady to reply, "I need to know what room Kurt Martin is in." The old lady looked up, as if she just noticed we were there. "Pardon me?" Mom sighed, obviously showing this was urgent, "Kurt Martin," she repeated, "I need to know what room _Kurt Martin_ is in." She said Dad's name as if she was speaking to someone who didn't understand proper English. "Oh right," the old lady, who I just realized had a name tag that was labeled Margaret, said, entering the name in her computer, "Ah, here we are. He's in ward 127. That's down this hall and to the left." Mom suddenly looked relieved. "Thank you," she said exasperatedly.

"Will someone tell me what's going on?" I asked the question I had been holding back since the car ride here, which, I just realized, wasn't too long ago. Both Cody and Mom looked at the floor as we continued our quest to finding ward 127, and sighed. They knew they would have to tell me sometime. "Zack," Mom said, stopping abruptly and turning around to face me, "your father," she paused to gather herself together, "has been seriously hurt."

My heart sank through what seemed like the earth's crust. I remember the last time she said that was when Dad attempted to stage dive at one of his many concerts. His fans were crazy about him, and I'm sure if they were expecting it, they would have caught him. It's just that…he forgot to warn them. He was fine except for a broken rib. He couldn't perform for five months; only after his rib had healed and he had gone through a few months of physical therapy. Last time, Mom wasn't this upset last time, so I could only assume that this time was worse.

I nodded in response to my mom's statement. She gave a don't-worry-he'll-be-fine-like-last-time look, but for some strange reason, I just couldn't find any reason to believe her.

When we entered ward 127, I realized that it wasn't just one room, but a bunch of miniature cubicles. Nurses were bustling from different cubicle to cubicle tending to different patient's needs. They were all so busy with their many jobs that none of them seemed to pay the slightest bit of attention to any of the tree of us. There was a small, plump nurse who was tending to a man who had what looked like boils all over his face. There was another tall nurse who was going back and fourth from the small fridge in the corner to a cubicle that I couldn't see who was in there because the curtain was pulled over the entrance. When Mom finally got the attention of a nurse with long red hair and a pretty face, she brought us to the last cubicle on the right.

A man with black hair was lying motionless, his only company being a fly buzzing continuously into the closed dusty window on the ugly wallpapered wall. The nurses seem to avoid this cubicle and I don't blame them. It looked ancient. The bed legs had clawed feet and the bedside table looked like it was about to fall over even though it looked like nothing had been placed on it in years. There was a collection of dust bunnies that seemed to be steadily growing as we speak and the only modern looking object in the room was a chair with a stain that appeared that someone had puked on it.

I feebly approached the corpse-like man. "Dad?" He didn't move.


	2. Run!

Chapter 2: Run!

---Zack's POV---

My face went sheet white as I did a 180 and ran. I wasn't even registering what Mom was saying, let alone listening to her yell at me as I flew out of the ward, almost knocking down the nurse who had just entered and was about to say something, and down the hallway. I could sense people sticking their heads out the many offices and rooms only to see the cause of all the commotion was a 16-year-old blonde kid panting and sobbing. My eyes were streaming from either pain, tears or both. I could neither tell nor decide.

I skidded around the corner where the old lady named Margaret was slowly typing something into her computer. 'But yet again,' I thought, 'everything seems slow at the speed I'm going.' After exiting the automatic doors, I took a left, heading towards the park. My converse pounding the pavement; I was drowning in my own sweat. I sped by smokers and street vendors until I finally reached a place to sit down and not be bothered.

I chose my favorite bench. This bench was dedicated to my grandfather on Dad's side, Carl Martin. It was set right next to the pond, but in front of a tree, so it was constantly covered in leaves and sap. Most people hated even the thought of sitting on such a "dirty bench" but for some reason, I really didn't care if my jeans got a little sap on them. I know Cody is usually the one to get scared by this type of thing, but when I sit in this bench, I feel a strange connection to my grandfather. He died when I was five, so I didn't really know him that well, but when I sit in his bench I can sense his spirit. Don't ask me how; I just can. Sometimes I'm even convinced that I see him. When I'm in a situation that I feel scared, which is _not_ often, I can feel him watching and I always know that I'll get through it somehow.

That was why I chose to run to my grandfather at this very moment. I was so mad; so confused; so sad; so scared. I didn't know what do or say. In these situations, it was usually Cody who cried, but now I couldn't help myself. I put my head in my hands and watched my own tears hit the surface of the almost frozen pond. No one was watching me, but I didn't even care if someone happened to glance over at me. Well, I regretted thinking this when someone gently touched my shoulder.

I looked up to see a man who looked so old and white that he was almost transparent. He looked remarkably like Dad; having the same shaped face and the same color…then I looked closer. His eyes had no color! They were the same milky white color as his hair, his body, and now that I looked closer, his overcoat.

I blinked; not exactly believing, nor wanting to believe what was in front of my eyes. I looked away from the opaque man into the water and had to muffle my scream. There was the tree, dropping leaves and sap onto the frosty ground, my own tear-stained, petrified face, and passersby, all hugging their coats close as the November wind tried to pry them off. But there was something missing. Where the old man's reflection should have been, there was a swirl of white mist moving with the water's motion.

My blood turned to ice as goose bumps formed all over my shaking body. I wanted to scream, but not draw too much attention to myself. I looked around for signs of comfort and soothing, but none came from the apparently oblivious passersby. Then the old man spoke in a voice that sounded almost as old and delicate as he was, "Z-z-z-Zack," he said shakily. That's when I freaked out and was once again running at top speed, only now to a different destination.

I didn't even bother to look back. I could feel the old man's unblinking gaze staring me down as I ran back past the street vendors and didn't finally slow down until I was safely camouflaged with the constant flow of people. I heard the nearest church bell chime twelve times; answering my question why there were so many people out on this not-so-friendly day. Although, if I were them, I would have just brought my lunch to work rather than risk getting my face blown off.

Then another thought occurred to me: 'My car was still at school.' I wonder if they would count me as skipping. But then again, knowing Mom, she would have signed us both out and explained to the secretary about this urgent situation. 'Well,' I thought aloud, 'I might as well go to school and get my car seeing as it will get towed if I just leave it there all night.' And with that thought, I stepped out of the flow of people and headed for school.


	3. I Accept

Chapter 3: I Accept

---Carrey's POV---

I could hear Zack before he entered Tipton. His wheels screeched into the "Guests Only" Parking Lot as tried to finish chopping carrots but I was distracted when I knew he was going to enter the suite at any moment. I just couldn't think of what to say to him. Should I try to tell him that his father will be alright, because that's only partly true; or should I just tell him to call and talk to his father personally? Or better yet, pretend that nothing happen and maybe he would get the hint that nothing is wrong and we'll live happily ever after. (Or at least everything will be back to normal.)

I was shaking when I heard the elevator go off and I almost passed out when I heard a soft knock on the door. The knife fell to the floor, missing my foot by inches. But I wasn't paying attention. I was at the door faster than I had ever moved in my life. I flung it open to reveal Mr. Mosbey. "Hello Carrey," he said. I was disappointed. "He- hello, Mr. Mosbey," I managed to splutter. "I just wanted to let you know," he paused, apparently for dramatic effect, "that all of the staff at The Tipton is very sorry about Kurt." _How nice, _I thought, _now leave._ "Thank you Mr. Mosbey," I replied to him, "but it's nothing to worry about," I continued, "he's fine, just badly hurt." He sighed, "That's a relief," he smiled and looked at me, "do you think you could do your show tonight?"

That did it. I was tense enough already. I tried to hide my anger, but I don't think I did very well. "No," I said, trying to keep my voice level, but it was rising with every word I said, "Mr. Mosbey, my ex-husband just barely survived a deadly car crash, and just because he's not my husband anymore, don't you think for one second that I wouldn't car if he died! One of my sons is missing and the other one is completely in denial." I was now shouting, "And all you can think of is my show? Well, think again mister because, until I find my son and figure out that Kurt is going to be 100 okay, consider my job on hiatus!" And with that, I huffed and puffed into the elevator and went down into the lobby.

When I entered the lobby, everything seemed to be normal. Mr. Mosbey was talking to what looked like a husband and wife at the check-in desk; London was talking to Maddie at the candy counter while they both were looking at a magazine; and Esteban was lugging luggage that was bigger than he was to the direction of the elevator. But the thing that was missing was the thing that jumped out at me: no Zack. It didn't make any sense. I has heard, even seen, his car go into the parking lot and him get out.

I was just about to go over and interrupt Maddie to question her when a familiar voice stopped me. "Hello," it said, and when I turned around, I saw it was this guy that had been coming to every one of my shows for the past two weeks. "Hi," I said, starting to blush. "I missed your last show," he said, "I'm so sorry that I did." He had beautiful eyes. "Oh, don't worry about it," I replied, thinking about how nice he was to apologize. "No," he said, "I am worrying about it, and I'd like to make it up to you by treating you to dinner this Friday." Now I knew I was blushing. "How sweet," I smiled and he smiled back, "I accept." I could see he was pleased, "Alright, how about I pick you up around 7. Where do you live?" I simply adored the sound of his voice. "I'm in suite 2345." I started to walk away when he called after me, "What's your name?" I looked over my shoulder and said, "Carrey," in a sing-song voice. I couldn't even remember what I had come into the lobby for.


End file.
